Run
by RavenStone88
Summary: When her publisher suggests she take a vacation to Caineville, Utah, Emily soon finds out that there are worse monsters out here than even she could dream up. Will she ever escape from the clutches of Mac? Or will he keep her as his personal play thing.
1. No Escape

**Disclaimer: I only own Emily**

**Warning: Rated M, for abuse and adult content. **

**Feedback: A little constructive feedback would be nice. For my new readers, I hope you enjoy and for those of you who read the old version, I do hope you like this one better. Please let me know. **

****This takes place before Red Canyon because otherwise things get far too confusing. So, Enjoy!**

Prologue

There was so much blood. How could there be so much blood? And more, how was she still alive? The last question rang in her head, synchronized with her heartbeat and the ringing that refused to cease. Her head lolled to one side as she stared into the darkness and fought to clear her vision. As her eyes shifted lazily with the slowness of someone who had over imbibed and how fought to keep their stomach contents, the blurry vision worsened. All knowledge of time and the moments leading up to her possible death, had failed to register. The blood crusted on her clothing, ran off of her flesh and soaked into the fabric beneath her. No mortal person should bleed this much and still survive. Over several portions of her small frame there were bruises, cuts, and fractures. They screamed at her as she tried to move and pain shot through her ribs as she attempted to inhale. This man was the devil. Not even she could create a character so cruel or evil. He was a sadist and a rapist and he took the utmost pleasure in hurting her. The sound of her screams had to be music to his ears because he loved to cause her pain.

The horrors that had befallen her, could not be described by even the best writers. Even the great Poe would shudder to hear the events of her last few moments, whispered to his grave. This was supposed to be her vacation, her chance to get away from the chaotic orchestra of the city. But everything had gone horribly wrong. She should never have come to this place. There was no peace out here and no hope of ever leaving. She knew that now, but now that she thought about it, she knew it before she ever ended up in the cold darkness. It had drifted softly over her like a blanket of snow, the hopeless feeling, it was subtle at first and now that she was here, it smacked her hard like a baseball bat to the back of her skull. Another thing became evident to her-as she lay in the dark, fighting to stay awake-she should have left when she encountered him. All of that had passed now, there was no going back and undoing anything. Those moments crawled through her memory, tantalizingly slow, as if to mock her. They laughed at her in the darkness, indulging in her pain and breathing in her misery. What cruel gods had decided this would be her fate?

Emily felt her stomach lurch as her body throbbed with never ending pain and every beat of her heat pumped more blood from her open wounds. It was impossible-at this point-to tell what hurt worse, her body as a whole, or her lower regions where he had violated her over and over again. The pain there spread from her most delicate folds up into her lower womb. She was sure there was blood still trickling there from when he took her without her wanting. That assault had left her with barely anything to cover her lower regions and protect them from any further pain. Her jeans hung around her legs in a tattered, bloody mess and her white cotton panties were long ripped from her body. How many times had he done that to her? Emily was sure she had blacked out at least once from the pain and trauma. If there was a god in the heavens, he had thrown a blind eye to Caineville and the demons that inhabited it's lands. As she thought about it, the memory of his hot breath in her ear and the feeling of him pounding into her, hard enough to make her hit her head on the stone wall, came flooding back to her. Little bits and pieces of memory came back to her in fragments. The feel of him, his rough hands on her delicate flesh, his panting as he tore her most feminine parts and the sickening things he said. She shuddered in pain and disgust before she fought to push the memories away.

Emily knew now that she had to get out of this cave and out of Caineville. There would be no one coming to rescue her because no one knew she was here. The only people that even knew about this place, were the locals and they would most likely deny that she had ever been here. Everyone in this area seemed just as twisted and evil. From the young sheriff, to the mexican bar tender at the Luna Mesa, they would cover for him, she was sure of it. The moment she walked into that little shack, she knew there was something wrong with them. To be honest, the moment she had crossed into this place, she could feel her body jolt with fear, it had been trying to tell her something. And now she would pay for not listening to it. No, no one would be looking for her because as far as her publisher knew, she was sitting at a desk in her rental house, working on her next book. Or relaxing in a lawn chair on some large deck. How she wished that was the truth. Unfortunately the truth was much dirtier and uglier than that. It had a face and a name, it had unruly hands that touched hard and it had a sexual appetite that refused to be sated.

When she had first come here, Emily had not been a survivor or a fighter. At this very moment, she knew that if she did not mold into one, she would not make it out of this place alive. Even though she was weak with blood loss, sick with pain and terrified of him, she knew that she had to get out of here one way or another. If she had to kill him to do so, she needed to take the opportunity when it came her way. To get out of here alive, she could not hesitate. Not even if it meant she would have to kill one of the other two. Right now she was screaming at herself mentally to get up off the dirty mattress and make it out of the cave, before he returned. He would return, that much was absolute. When he would return, she did not know, in fact she did not really care when he would return, just so long as she was long gone when he did. There it was, the thought of him, it brought the memories back. Emily could still smell him on her clothes, even over the powerful smell of chemicals and the sweet smell of something else that permeated the cave. That was it, the last memory motivated her to try and move again.

With weak, trembling muscles, she managed to roll to one side on the blood crusted mattress. It groaned with the sound of springs that were long past their expiration date. The motion of her movement caused more pain to shoot through her body, making her open wounds throb and her lungs jolt. This position put more pressure on them and made breathing even harder than it had before. She knew they had to be fractured from the many steel toed boot kicks they had received when she was 'disobedient'. Or just because he felt that she needed a reminder of just who she was dealing with. Either way, they were fractured. The movement also caused her vision to blur again and she fought to keep from vomiting. Emily could taste blood in her mouth, which did not surprise her or help her nausea any and it mixed with the bit of bile that had escaped from her stomach and throat. If she knew it would not land on her shoulder, she probably would have spit it out but she feared that the sight of it would make her finally lose control of her stomach. In the hope that it would relax her gag muscles, she inhaled slowly through her nose, meaning to exhale through her mouth but she caught the full scent of the chemicals around her and that was it. Emily barely managed to pull her head over the edge of the bed, before blood and bile came rushing out of her mouth on to the mud beside her.

It was a few minutes before the puking stopped and she could breath again. Emily spit as much of the taste from her mouth as she could before she rolled onto her back again and just lay there. The motion of her diaphragm tightening and her body shuddering as she vomited, caused more pain. She felt her skin flush hot and then cold before her body finally settled back to just throbbing with pain. For a moment her vision blurred again but she closed her eyes tight and forced it to clear. When it did, she pushed herself up with what little strength she had left. Even though she had an idea of how badly injured she was, she still wanted to inspect some of her wounds. So, with shaky hands, she brought her fingers lightly to her lips and touched the broken, chapped, bruised skin that was her bottom lip. Even the light pressure of her fingers on her it made her wince with pain. Then she began to touch the rest of her face, finding nearly all of it to be bruised and tender. On one side of her face, she felt a long crusted trail of dried blood, which trailed all the way up to the side of her head. That was where she had said 'No' to him and he retaliated with a swift smack of his fist. The arm that was supporting her weight, was starting to shake and threatening to collapse. She was so weak that without both limbs for support, she could not even sit upright.

Emily glanced down at her bloody, shredded jeans and finally understood why she was so weak. Now she knew why there was so much blood on the mattress and why the sand around it had turned to mud. On her left thigh was a large gash that was still bleeding, rather profusely. There was nothing in this cave, clean enough for her to tie it off and partially stop the bleeding. She would have to get out of this place and get help or she would probably bleed to death. That gash had to be where he had nicked her with the hunting knife, when he was making mince meat of her clothes. He was in such a hurry to satisfy himself, that he probably did not realize or care that he had cut here so deep. Without warning, her left arm finally gave out under the pressure of holding her up and she landed hard on the mattress, shooting more pain through her like a bolt of electricity. A single tear slipped down her cheek and dropped onto the mattress beneath her. Every bit of her hurt and her body was so weak from blood loss, she was sure she could not make it out of this cave. She was certain that he would return before she even managed to get to her feet. But she knew that she had no choice. No matter how weak she was or how much blood she had lost, and no matter how hopeless she felt, she had to get up, she had to get out.

With everything she had, she pushed herself back up into a seated position and tried to scoot to the edge of the mattress. This movement caused the large gash in her leg to stretch and soak the denim fabric, hanging off her legs, with more blood. For a moment, her body swayed, her vision blurred and her body threatened to slide back into unconsciousness. The pain in her leg felt as if someone was digging fish hooks into it, trying to rip the muscles from it. Emily gritted her teeth and hissed in pain, fighting against what her body wanted. As quick as her anatomy would allow, she put both hands on the cold cave floor before pulling her knees behind her. In this position, she was vulnerable to attack, but without it, she would have no chance to get to her feet. It also caused more pressure on the already broken parts of her, but if she gave into her agony and her weakness, she would forever be his toy. At least until he decided he was done with her.

Emily felt pain shoot down through her leg as she attempted to stand. Her entire body shook in protest, her muscles were weak with exhaustion and blood loss, so she fell hard onto the cave floor. A yelp escaped her lips as she connected with the cold, stoney ground. As she lay there, trying to convince herself to get up, she felt the over whelming urge to just give in, over taking her like a strong wave. She was so tired and she hurt so much, maybe if she just let him do whatever he wanted, maybe he would not hurt her. Emily was lying to herself now, in a pathetic attempt to find comfort in the fires of hell. But she knew that no matter what she did, he would hurt her because he indulged in her torture. She knew she would not be blessed with death, not unless he was the one to kill her and that he would return and then...she shuddered. That was not a feeling she wished to relive, but the thought of it was enough to motivate her. The fragments of memory still piercing her mind were enough to force her to find strength, hidden in some part of her and to push her body to obey her.

The bits and pieces of her memory kept flashing in and out of her mind, like bolts of lightening. When she had tried to escape his grasp and he lost his temper and back handed her across the face. Then when she had kicked him in the groin as he was pulling her from the bed of the truck and he drug her out of it before he threw her on the Utah dirt and kicked her in the ribs several times. Even now she could feel his dirty, steel toed, work boot, slam into her delicate flesh, bruising her skin and fracturing her ribs. Finally, when he had gotten her into the cave and dropped her onto the mattress and the all to vivid events of her rape. How he had slashed at her jeans and ripped at her panties. That feeling of him forcefully penetrating her over and over again as her delicate folds tore from the force. She could still hear herself screaming in pain and feel him arouse even more to the sound of her agony.

As she remembered everything and at the same time, realized that she was too weak to walk, she came to one conclusion. She would do whatever she had to, to get out of this cave. If her body would not cooperate, if it would not obey and allow her to walk, then she would crawl or drag herself out of this hell. Emily turned her body slightly sideways to keep her open wound from touching the ground, even though it caused her lungs to scream in protest and it made it harder to breath. She pushed the physical sensations from her consciousness so she would not give up halfway through because of the sheer pain she knew this would cause her. Emily dug her nails into the sand coated, rock floor of the cave and began to drag herself along the floor by her already weak and nearly useless arms. Bits of dirt and small pebbles nudged up under her nails, turning them dark brown as she went. Where ever she clawed at the floor, she left little indentations and her wounds leaving a trail of blood as she moved toward her salvation. The small jagged rocks that littered the ground, tore at her body as she pulled herself along. But at this point, they were nothing compared to the rest of her injuries.

For ten agonizing minutes she grunted, pulled and prayed she would make it out. Then she saw it, a small dot of light in the distance and she knew that it was her escape. She could feel hope creeping into her heart and her body kicked with adrenaline and excitement. That bit of adrenaline was what she would need to keep going. There might be a chance for her to make it out of this alive. Upon seeing the exit, she now realized that she had begun to drag herself along at a bit more aggressive pace. Emily was going to make it, she was going to get out and get help. Then she would be back to take out the monster that had done this to her so that he could no longer do this to anyone. But her hope and excitement was quickly extinguished, as if it had been the glow of a cigarette cherry and someone had stomped it out. Just when she was about to leave the cave, a familiar silhouette passed into the sunlight that was lighting her way. She stopped moving when she realized that the light was partially blocked out. Even before Emily looked up and saw him, she had felt her body spike with fear. She swallowed hard before she finally, slowly looked up at the figure that was almost standing over her. In desperation, even though she knew he was without mercy, she begged and pleaded with him.

"Please...no...please..."

Her voice was barely audible. Every syllable of her words caused her breath to shorten and her body to recoil with fear. Emily knew all too well that he would not spare her, that the punishment for escape, this time might actually kill her. If it would, she would welcome the sweet kiss of death. In it's embrace, she knew that she would find comfort and peace. There would be no more pain in death. But it was more likely, that he would spare her and make her beg him to kill her. A man with his degree of masochism, would not let her have the relief of passing on. No, he would keep her from death, just a few minutes away from death and bring her back so that he could do it all over again.

The silhouette in the doorway, did finally answer her. But of course it was not with words. All she received as a reply, was the blunt pain of a steel toed boot as it connected with her good temple. For a moment her vision wavered and was colored with black and white spots. The world became one large blur of nothing. Emily reached out desperately for anything, her hand stretching weakly toward the blurring, fading blue Utah sky, as if she was begging whatever got was there, to spare her this torment. From god, there was no answer. Then everything faded to black. Even in her unconscious mind, she knew that if she did regain consciousness, and she knew that she would never leave this place because he would make sure of that.


	2. Two Weeks Ago

**Disclaimer: I only own Emily**

**Warning: Rated M, for abuse and adult content.**

**Feedback: A little constructive feedback would be nice. For my new readers, I hope you enjoy and for those of you who read the old version, I do hope you like this one better. Please let me know.**

***I did not have a lit of time to edit this. Anyone wanting to Beta. Let me know.**

****This takes place before Red Canyon because otherwise things get far too confusing. So, Enjoy!**

Two Weeks Ago...

There was absolutely no logical or sensible reason for her to be subjecting herself to this masochistic, mental torture. That was the worst part about her current predicament, the mental punishments she would endure for silently agreeing to this trip. It was clear to her now, that her publisher was a sadist. If he was not, then he would not have rented her a house in hell. What exactly about this place made it hell to her? It probably would have been a relaxing vacation for the more mentally stable, whose mind was not filled with chaotic thoughts about areas similar to this. But Emily was not one of those people, she was an author. The give of the creative written word, often came with a price, its' cost was great. Each historically brilliant mind of the written word, held inside, some form of mental psychosis or instability. It is well known that a handful of them would self-medicate with the help of spirits or more often narcotics of all variations. But in her current state (although they would help to stifle her wondering mind), she could do neither. For as long as she had written, Emily had avoided using drugs. Yet, every now and again, she would drink. Her drinking was not to excess however, but a beer or two for relaxation.

As she headed down the long stretch of desolate pavement that was dotted with random corpses of roadkill, her mind began to wonder. It drifted back to the memories which were the cause of her current situation. Those memories held a physical sensation with their form and as she allowed them to drift back into her conscious, those feelings over took her once more. There is an old adage that says 'sticks and stones may break my bones but words can never hurt me'. This saying is a forceful insult to the emotional well being of any man or woman. Emily herself well knew that words held the power to inspire over whelming thoughts and emotions that could cripple, even the strongest of men. Only recently however, did she learn that words had the ability to inspire horrific emotions in even those who wielded their power on a constant basis. Now, she understood why they say, the pen is mightier than the sword. Where physical, sword wounds could kill or mutilate the victim, the injuries created by the word, could last forever. No, words would not kill their intended victim instantly, but that was the beauty of them. The man or woman who was effected by the power of those statements, would live on being tortured until they end their own life or until death finally took them in whatever form was determined. So, even though Emily held the pen and she could use it well, nothing had prepared her for the two words that would cause her unreasonable fear. Perhaps if she had listened to the messages her body had spoken to her, she would not later have to discover their meaning. But the skeptic that often sat between her physical and non-physical worlds, had whispered in her ear and told her to ignore her body. It would be the most misguided decision Emily would make, one with deadly consequences. Even though her body had never once lied to her and that her internal warnings were never misguided, she chose this time to follow the advice of her inner voice.

Only two days ago, Emily had attended a morning meeting with her publisher, Jack Furlong. Of all the people in the city, Jack was the only one who she despised with ever fiber of her being. He was a pudgy man with lightening hair, combed in such a way, it very much resembled a poor Donald Trump. Nearly all of his clothing resembled that of a man who had far more money than he did. She had long come to the conclusion that he owned ever sports jacket that had ever been made and that he had no sense of smell. The cologne he wore daily, was made more from alcohol, than it was of anything else. But there was a good chance he had chosen it because it helped to mask the smell of his constantly putrid breath. As she sat in front of his desk, sunk into a brown leather chair that smelled very much like dog shampoo, she let her mind wonder else where. The scenery of the office around her no longer provided the distraction necessary to keep her from smashing the desk lap over the back of Jack's skull. Emily was in no way a fighter, nor was she prone to sudden violent outbursts. However, if she got mad enough and it boiled over, she would occasionally slam her fist into something hard. One thing she never could understand about Jack and men like him, was why they believed that they had the right to judge other people's work. They have no creative talent and they have never attempted to create anything of worth, so why in hell could they pass judgement on others who did have some creative intellect?

In the corner of the room, Emily found at least one object that was still capable of calming the rage that his mere presence ignited, a solid oak grandfather clock. Its' golden pendulum swayed back and forth in a slow rhythmic motion, lulling her into a state of hypnotic calm. This clock was her only vice, while she endured the destructive feedback from her asshole of a publisher. It was the fine line between being calm and completely losing her temper. On this day however, she would not have to worry about her anger. But she would come to learn that some places in the world can strike fear into the heat by their name alone.

"...Caineville, Utah. I have rented you a small house-"

"Where?"

That trance-like calm she was once in, had been sledge hammered by fear at the mention of that town. As far as she could tell, there was no logical reason for her to suddenly be anxious. But she was afraid. A cyclone of butterflies stirred in her stomach as her blood rushed adrenaline to every limb in her body and her heartbeat kicked up to full speed. Emily dug her fingers into the soft leather of the arm on the chair and searched for something else to distract her. She was also trying to hide her fear from Jack. Because of her emotionally stimulated, color shifting, hazel eyes, Emily knew he would see her fear, unless she calmed down. A shadow of fear was already drifting slowly across her eyes, changing them to a light blue color. She made a futile attempt to act casual, tucking a strand of chestnut colored hair behind one ear, before shifting her attention to the large window across from her. The sunrise had brushed a array of colors across the still blue sky, providing her the distraction she needed. But this time, she did not allow her mind to drift elsewhere. She wanted to hear what Jack had to say about Utah and to figure out what about its mention had sent her into a mini panic attack.

"Emily, are you listening to me? This vacation would be good for you. Get you away from the city for a while."

"Great." She replied sarcastically.

"I'm sorry?"

"Nothing."

Who was she really trying to lie to in that moment of passive aggression? In some analytical part of her mind, hidden beneath the layers of mixed emotion, she had her own psychiatrist. The devious little voice now piped up with its' analysis of the situation and exchange of words with Jack. The last word she remembered, 'nothing' , had been a subconscious lie, meant to trick or convince her body into complying. If she could believe that the emotions overflowing every cell of her, were just nothing, then perhaps the feeling of terror would cease. But just like the rest of her conversations with her ignoramus of a publisher , her spoken words were hollow. They were spoken only because their definition fit the conversation. So, the lie she attempted to tell him (and herself at the same time) only succeeded in working on one of them. Emily sighed as she realized that this emotional roller coaster was not made of hills and loops. It was more of a diagonal hill and it was accelerating as she grew closer to her destination. Ever progressively the memory of her conversation with Jack, drifted off in her subconscious until it was a whisper of noise. Their conversation may have become nothing more that a shadow of a thought, but the smell of his cologne, still clinging to her clothes, was not something she could push away. It was one of those over bearing, throat clogging scents that he had clearly picked out himself. That man seriously needed a woman in his life, if not to improve his smell, then perhaps she could improve his dress. Although his cologne was over bearing, it did help to cancel out his breath, at least from a distance. If only someone had informed her that she would soon come to miss his stench. There were worse smells and worse mouths with meth rotted teeth, who would want to invade hers. The owner of such a found essence would smother her with his scents and violate her cleanliness with his dirty limbs. Her mouth would taste foulness beyond comprehension and at the same time she would feel disgust, she would love it and take great pleasure in this perversion. And the hands of the critics she imagined, those fat nubs wrapped around their brandy glasses, would seem like nothing. Emily would discover worse hands. Those hands were rough, they would handle her delicate flesh with lustful aggression and would leave bruises in the wake of their contact. All of this information would be presented to her later, too much later.

As the Utah sand kicked up under the wheels of her Chevy Cavalier, she attempted to stifle the chaotic thoughts swirling around in her brain. Silence and time (without intellectual stimulation) are the enemy of even the greatest writers. When the creative mind has far too much of these and none of the other, they have no distraction from the other ideas in their twisted mind. The things that come to mind, during the silence, are made from infinite amounts of perversion and sometimes unexpressed homicidal emotions. There is no order in which things occur within these unused ideas. So, the keeper of these nightmares is only able to suffer inside of themselves, until they can create an inner numbness or find some distraction. The desert was the worst possible place for Emily to be, because there was nothing to keep her mind busy. Behind her stretched miles of dusty pavement and ahead of her, lay miles more of road. Along with the mental issues she was having, road fatigue was slowly beginning to set in and she had no where to pull off to rest. In desperation, she rolled down the drivers side window, hoping that the hot desert air would help to at least wake her up.

A warm, dry gust of Utah heat brushed against her face and pushed her fatigue away. But it could not stop her mind from racing or make her fear subside. Now that she was actually here, in this place that had caused her so much stress, she thought she understood why it had such an effect on her. It was very likely that she associated Utah with her book Country Hell and some part of her feared that she would run into a man who was similar to the main character from the book. She had created a man named Anthony, who was a drunk and a rapist. But she had also created an inescapable situation for the main female character who he kidnaps and tortures. At the very end of the book, the girl believes she has gotten away and is safe from the clutches of Anthony. That is until, he suddenly appears in her bedroom one night and takes her back to an abandoned shack in the desert and no one ever hears from her again. The book did not have a happy ending but it did get some fantastic reviews.

As the sun made its' descent behind the mountains that loomed on the horizon, Emily's fear worsened. The man she feared, the one she created, always attacked at night. Anthony was a nocturnal animal, rarely seen during daylight. So if there was an "Anthony" out here, she would encounter him now. The faint sound of country music drifted in through the window, drawing her attention away from her fears. Emily scanned the horizon and surrounding area for the source of the music. Her eyes finally fell upon a small glowing shack, off in the distance. At the rate she was traveling she would soon pass it. She was curious about the place and her stomach was growling with hunger, so she slowed down, stopping at the entrance to the parking lot. The building she had only seen from a distance was now in full view of her passenger window. Now, she could tell it was a small bar with the name Luna Mesa painted crudely on a white sign that hung on either side of its' roof peak. Its' parking lot was pretty full for being in such a secluded area of Utah. After a few moments of hesitation, she finally decided it would be safe enough to grab a beer and a burger before jetting off to her final destination. She wanted to avoid the local population that currently inhabited the small lot and avoid any chance of running into an Anthony-like figure. So, she pulled into a dusty parking spot in the back of the building, far away from the other vehicles.

After turning off the car, she popped open the glove compartment and shuffled through the various fast food napkins and receipts, looking for one particular item. Emily knew there was one thing she could use to keep some distance between her and the undesirable locals. Or at least protect her from the type of man she did not wish to encounter. Although she did not even like carrying the thing in her car, in this place, she would make an acceptation and actually carry it on her. From behind the cacophony of mess that was the contents of her glove box, she produced a boot dagger in a black boot sheath. She was quick to slip it into her right boot and pull her pant leg down over it, so she could hide it from prying eyes.

In anticipation of the harsh environment she knew she would encounter, Emily had put on her black steel-toed boots. To counteract the desert heat, she was wearing a white tank top with grey cargo pants, that hugged her hips a little too well. Although the outfit server her well, in keeping her cool, it did not help her keep from drawing attention to herself. The last think she wanted, was to stick out like a sore thumb. But with the outfit she was wearing, she would. In areas as desolate as this, she assumed there was not much in the way of law and that most crimes (some of the worst), went unknown or unpunished. The very realization, made her shudder and begin to worry about Anthony again. Before the whole Anthony cycle could start again, she got out of the car and headed for the bar entrance.

As she walked, she listened to the sand crunch beneath her boots and the sound of the large trucks that pulled into the lot. Just the sound of their engines, rattled her already unstable nerves. But she pushed on, trying hard to ignore her growing paranoia. The smell of cigarette smoke tantalized her senses as it drifted from the porch that surrounded the front entrance. Emily made a note of the large, drunken men who were hovering there, each one of them holding a cigarette or a beer. As she moved through the crowd to get to the door, several sets of glazed over eyes stared at her and seemed to peel every article of clothing from her small frame with their gaze so they could drink in her naked flesh. Emily purposely made an effort to avoid eye contact with any one of them, so they did not get the wrong idea about her. She wanted nothing to do with any one of them. The rusted handle of the storm door, that would lead her inside, was a welcoming cool to her heated flesh. Even if she wanted nothing to do with them, she still could not help but blush as she felt them rake their eyes over her skin. To escape from their hungry predatory gazes, she yanked open the door, causing it to groan on its hinges, before she stepped inside. The door slammed against its' equally weather warped frame as it closed behind her and created a barrier between her and the drunken morons.

The interior of the bar was adorned with various taxidermic animal heads, license plates and other odds and ends. As she was surveying the building, the feeling of being watched, began to tingle at the small of her back. Emily scanned the bar for the eyes that would not leave her body and what she found, was an old bartender, leaning on the counter, watching her intently. From what she could discern, he was of mexican descent. His goatee was reflective of the stereotypical mexican of the fifties western movies. It came to a point just a few inches below his chin and the ends of his mustache had been curled elegantly upward, very much like the pringles man. There was a salt and pepper ponytail that descended to his waist, moving very slightly as he made his way around the bar. This stranger wore a light button down, short sleeve shirt that was clearly meant to try and hide the growing belly beneath it, brought on by age. After enduring the long trip and her own endless paranoid delusions, Emily had very little patients to deal with him. So, she shot him a hard glare, hoping it would be enough of a warning to make him leave her alone. It must have worked because he quickly turned away from her and headed off to procure another beer for the man sitting at the corner of the bar. For a few minutes more, she stood there watching him move, that same ice cold glare in her eyes. She wanted to be sure that he got her warning and that he knew (even though she was not a fighter), she was not playing games with him. When he did not turn to look at her again, she made her way toward a corner booth so she could watch the bar and watch as the cars pulled into the lot from the large window near her table.

Emily was watching everyone around her so intently that she had failed to see the bartender, make his way to her table. The sound of a thick mexican accent and a placid greeting were enough to make her jump. His presence, drawing her attention back to the semi-friendly atmosphere surrounding her.

"Hel-lo dere."

For a few seconds, she studied his features. There were stress lines across his face and around his cold brown eyes. She would not forget those dark pools. But for now, she would play nice and pretend she was alright.

"Hi."

It was a cold response but situation appropriate.

"Wha-t can I gh-et you?"

"Uh...burger, medium well and a beer. Bud Light."

"Coming rh-ight up."

With the idle exchanges over, she watched him head back toward the bar and disappear through the door behind it. While he cooked, she looked around more, watching the patrons that entered or already occupied the bar. As she watched them, the smell of smoke and liquor began to burn her nostrils. Every bar had a scent, she knew this and this one smelled mostly of dirt, fried food and cigarette smoke. If anything happened to her in this bar, she knew that those smells would trigger the memory of the event. Emily glanced outside once more, before the smell of food wafted into her personal space. She glanced up in time to see the bar keep heading in her direction with a red, wax paper lined basket and a frosted bottle of Bud Light. Still keeping up appearances, she made sure to at least be civil when he set the items on the table in front of her.

"Thanks."

The words passed through her lips in an almost automated response. It felt unrealistic and in a small way robotic. But still her intention was genuine. He said nothing, only smiled. Emily pulled the cold bottle to herself and took a good swig of beer. She was hoping it might calm her nerves, at least a little bit. At least the burger helped to stifle her growling stomach. It was thick, cooked to her liking and as she bit into it, it was so juicy that the juices from it, ran down her chin. Emily pulled a napkin from the dispenser on the table and wiped her chin clean before downing the rest of the burger. She finished eating in no time at all, washing her dinner down with the rest of the beer. Once she had sated her hunger, she went right back to watching the bar with the intent of an officer studying a crime scene. There was just one problem with this, in her effort to protect herself by watching the patrons around her, she had neglected to see or hear the beat up Silverado that was currently pulling into the parking lot. She also failed to notice the driver of the truck and his similarity to the nightmare she had been so afraid she might run into. After a few minutes, the bar tender (who no longer creeped her out), made his way back over to her booth, to collect the empty basket and bottle. Upon realizing that one beer would not be enough to stifle her still rattled nerves, she made the decision to order another one. Just as the bar keep was turning to leave, she spoke up, this time a little more friendly than she had been before.

"Could I get another beer?"

"Sh-ure."

The man disappeared behind the counter and came back with her beer, rather quickly. This time, she only nodded at him, remembering to keep him at a distance. She was just beginning to relax, the beer she had drink before was starting to kick in and helping her to ignore the fear that still raged just under her calm exterior. However, very soon, her peace would be shattered and her placid state would fall into hell, straight out of her own novel. It was slow when it started, at first, she only felt goosebumps trickle across her arm and then a cold sweat began to form on the back of her neck. Again, her body was attempting to warn her. But against what? As far as she could see, there was no prevalent danger around. Still, the feeling was enough to make her reach down and touch the hilt of the dagger, through her pants. If someone was planning to cause her trouble, then she might have to use it.

Emily had just put the frosted neck of the beer bottle to her lips and inhaled the sweet barley scent of beer when something crashed through her calm, awakening her nerves with a lightening quick dose of adrenaline. It was a voice that had interrupted her meditative state and jolted her body into alarm. But it was not anything the voice had said, in fact the owner of the voice was not even speaking directly to her. So then how was her calm disturbed? What about it shook her peace? There were several things about it that disturbed her. For one thing, its' familiarity struck her heart, causing its' to beat to rapidly increase. Its' very tone and the gruffness within it vibrated through her body, tingling her very core. It awakened parts of her in a way she had not expected or wanted. The voice also caused her to pause with her beer still resting against her lips, its' contents still tickling her nostrils.

As a could of fear slowly drifted across her hazel pools, morphing their color to dark blue, she shifted them in the direction the voice was emanating from. It was not that she wanted to look upon the nightmare that had stepped out of her book and mind. But it was a necessity that she confirm or deny his existence. Emily hoped with every fiber of her being that the owner of the voice belonged to someone else. Anyone who was nothing like the fictional rapist from her book Country Hell. When her eyes finally fell upon the owner of the voice, Emily felt her mouth go dry and her breath leave her lungs. She swallowed hard in an attempt to moisten her throat. Once in a lifetime, everyone has that one surreal moment where the mind cannot grasp what is happening. For her, this was the very moment where her mind could not and refused to accept what was conspiring. All her attempts to remain calm, were futile, the damage was already done. It had started when she crossed into Caineville, it had spread like a slow poison and it had generously eaten away at her nervous system, until it eviscerated her courage. But that poison was not finished with her, it currently was creeping through her brain, wearing her down with thoughts of violent perversion. As those thoughts began to overflow from her subconscious, her body aroused to an unmanageable lust. It tingled just under the fabric of her clothing, the only barrier between her soft flesh and his rough, wanting hands. In her mind, he was pinning her against the bar, his right hand tangled in her hair, pulling it hard and his left one was sliding down the front of her jeans. Emily shook her head, attempting to catapult the erotically destructive images from her mind before they could cause anymore damage to her withering composure.

All she could do was stare with wide eyes at him as he lingered around the bar. In what sweet hell had she fallen into? The figure she was examining by the bar had stepped from the pages of her novel and into the Luna Mesa. By some dark spell, the words she had used to describe him, had transformed into flesh and blood. Now, from pale lips, encircled by dark hair, there erupted a barrage of foulness, coated in that alluring country accent. The dark greasy locks that hung around his eyes, were coated with just as much oil and dirt as the rest of them. Emily's eyes could just make out the strength he held as it strained beneath his vile clothing. Even without seeing his bare flesh, she could tell he was the type of man who worked with his hands all day and because of that, he was powerful from head to toe. Nothing about his appearance was off putting, despite the grease that seemed to coat most of his body. There was a thin sheen of sweat that glistened across his powerful fore arms and across the back of his neck. She felt her breath catch in her throat as she watched his shoulders flex with unreleased power and she realized just how easily he could probably hurt her. The very thought made her shiver. Even without speaking, his movements reflected that of a man who was lustful beyond the point of satisfaction. That thought caused Emily's body to react in very contradicting ways. There was a bit of arousal, along with that thought and a bit of fear.

A man like that would not hear no, instead he would take what he wanted from her. Somehow a generalized thought about him had come to include her as the target. All of her thoughts and emotions were coinciding with the partial deafness she currently was experiencing. The only sound she could hear was the deep, gravel tone as it fell from his lips. It tingled her ears as it reached them and caused her body to moisten at the apex of her thighs. Time seemed to slow as she watched him run his tongue across his chapped, bottom lip and she watched him sway with the shift of his weight, moving from one foot to the other. The action of his tongue causing her mind to drift to places it thought would be better suited for licking. Emily swallowed hard as she battled for control over her bodily reactions to the temptation before her. That fight for control, nearly slipped when he began to run his finger across his lip before chewing on it slightly. With the erotic centers in her mind racing off to seductive thoughts, that she was attempting to fight off, she was drastically losing to a man that had no idea what he was doing to her. Emily had been so hypnotized by this too familiar man, that she had barely noticed her other physical reactions. Her heart was threatening to break her ribs, the salivation glands in her mouth had ceased completely and she was still holding the bottle of beer to her lips. On top of that, there were a million butterflies cycling her stomach and a fair amount of moisture had gathered between her thighs. Emily took a slow, calming breath before she finally sipped her beer, in a desperate attempt to wet her desert dry mouth. With another sigh, she allowed her eyes to drift back to the intimidating form-that to her was Anthony from Country Hell.

It was upon a second, survey of him, that she realized exactly how like that fictional character he was. The 'Anthony' before her wore a blue, dirt spotted, button down work shirt with a tattered long sleeve shirt underneath his work shirt, the sleeves of which were shoved to his elbows. Around his powerful hips, tied over his grease spattered jeans, was a red flannel shirt which hung around his thighs like a scottish kilt. This was all very similar to Anthony but what really sent an icy cold chill through her, were his dirty black steel-toed boots. Anthony, in the book was a woman beater and he indulged with great pleasure, in kicking women with those. Emily subconsciously shook her head at the thought of those evil boots, slamming into her rib cage. With that sobering thought spiked into her brain, she found herself in control of her body once again. Now, she realized, she needed to slip past that animal and escape the bar before he set his eyes on her.

As she sat there in her paralytic trance, contemplating her next movements, some things became alarmingly obvious. In her survey of the environment around her and the sweat coated, drunken patrons, Emily had failed to take any notice of other possible exits. Almost as if n a stalemate with an experienced chess player, she had idiotically walked right into their planned position. From what she could tell, there was one exit in this building and it was at current, barricaded by the clone of Anthony and his cult of friends. On top of her failure to plan an exit strategy, Emily had completely lost control over her inner thoughts. The end result being a continued release of oxytocin into her blood stream, which in turn resulted in the continued release of wetness between her legs and a deep, throbbing ache that would not cease unless satisfied. But that ache between her thighs would only be sated by the object of her arousal. Emily refused to let that happen because she knew all too well, what the possible outcome of that encounter could be. To make matters worse, the longer she stared, the worse things became because the more she watched him, the more details she noticed and the more he resembled Anthony.

Emily set her beer on the table in front of her with a small thud. The numbness in her limbs had caused her to set the bottle down a little harder than she had anticipated. The sudden sound of it caused her to flinch slightly and she dropped her darkening eyes to the floor, in a futile effort to hide from anyone who may have noticed the sound. For a few minutes she kept her eyes glued firmly to the floor, at the same time she shoved herself into the corner booth further in another wasted effort to remove herself from his line of vision. Emily fought back the advancing flood of fear-filled tears that threatened to spill forth from her ducts and give away the over bearing fear that now occupied every cell of her anatomy. Her body was a chaotic mixture of fear and lust. Neither one of them would cease unless she removed herself from the increasingly dangerous predicament. There was just one small problem, she had to manage to sneak to the bar, pay her tab and slip by him without drawing his attention. As she was calculating the odds of success and anticipating her next move, her spine began to tingle with that familiar feeling of being watched. The eyes of her voyeur, seemed to burn through her, right to her very soul. Their heated gaze could be felt as it moved from her face, down the rest of her before finally resting upon her barely visible cleavage. It felt as if, by vision alone, they had slowly pulled every article of clothing from her and now viewed her in complete nudity. There was that moment of complete paralysis, she herself had written about. It was the moment where the predatory male figure, spotted his would be captive and mentally victimized her with his eyes. In that moment, the object of his soon-to-be obsession, was powerless to do anything about the situation. Emily shifted her eyes across the dirt covered wooden floor in an attempt to avoid eye contact. With slow steady movements, she reached down and unstrapped the dagger in anticipation of what was to come. The simple movement of unstrapping the dagger so she could pull it if she needed to, was reassuring and helped to give her a small amount of courage. That courage was a grain of sand among the other detrimental emotions that filled her body. But it was still enough for her to decide, if his intentions were impure and masochistic (as she suspected they were), then she would not be part of his twisted fantasy.

The heat of his gaze still warmed through her body, causing her delicate flesh to heat once more with arousal. But her determination not to give in, helped her to push aside the lustful wants of her womanhood and choose a more logical course of action. So with her mind made up, she plotted a path of escape and made some side plans for any obstacles that might arise. Even though she had managed to find some stability in an unfamiliar and dangerous environment, she had still failed to escape the paralysis that kept her eyes glued to the floor. Emily knew that she had to face him, she had to look into the eyes that were bonding her to her seat. If she could not look into his face and overcome the emotions it caused, then she would become his possession. Emily mentally willed herself to look up and into the dark pools of the predator, leaning against the bar. When she looked up at him, he was slowly smoking a cigarette and watching her every move. The smoke from his lungs, drifted seductively between his wet lips that were glossed because with ever other drag he took, he licked them. Again she felt her breath catch in her lungs, almost as if someone had kicked her in her diaphragm. She had clearly underestimated the power he held over her and the effect that his look alone could have on her.

Now, looking directly at him, she could see the dark, coarse hair that trailed his strong jawline and the thin layer of dirt, sweat and grease that coated most of his face. Emily dug her nails nervously into the wood beneath her, as she watched him lick his bottom lip again. But this time, he did it slowly, almost as if he knew what sort of effect he was having on her. That steel gaze never broke from her as he licked his lip. Even though she caught the faintest glimpse of his black, rotten teeth as he licked hungrily at his lip, she was still aroused by him. The realization of her never ending lust, despite his lack of hygiene, quickly transformed into slight disgust. But the disgust was not for him, she felt disgusted by her own feelings. There would be time later to be disgusted with herself. For now, she needed to leave this bar and do it without getting stopped by him. From his body language and the look in those dark blues, Emily knew his intentions were immoral and (there was the high possibility), violent. But do you get past the cobra when it was in close range and waiting to strike? At this point, she could not reach for the dagger and tuck it in a closer, more convenient location without it being spotted. Emily sighed defeated. He wan an unavoidable obstacle to her freedom and safety. The only way out of this situation was to hurry to the bar, avoiding any advance from him, pay her tan and barrel her way to the door. For added courage, Emily emptied her beer in one large gulp. The alcohols alteration on her perception, only gave her the ability to ignore the heated glare that currently still pierced her clothing and raped her flesh.

Her slow precession toward the bar, felt almost dreamlike. Every footfall was another step into the lions den, a place she was determined not to visit for an extended period of time. Those lustful eyes never left her as she moved within closer proximity to him. The closer she came to the bar, the more intense the whirlwind of emotions within her became. By the time she reached her destination, she was trembling with fear, hot with arousal and had almost no courage left. As she stood at the counter, waiting to be spotted by the bartender, she heard the distinct sound of steel-toed boots on wooden floor, behind her.

Emily continued to fight off the thoughts that were raging through her mind and the oxytocin coursing through her veins. As her internal battle raged on, she felt him close the distance between them, his powerful form close enough to press himself against her. The feel of his muscular chest and arms caused hr legs to quiver and threaten to collapse. There was another thing as well, a growing problem strained just under the fabric of his pants and now it pressed lightly against the back of her thighs. It was almost enough to make her lose complete control. But to counteract his seduction, Emily dug her nails into her palms, hopeful that the pain would stave off her feelings for him. The little bit of pain did help for a little while, at least until her leaned into her more and whispered in her ear.

"You're a long way from home."

The deep, gravel tone of his voice seemed to vibrate down to her aching core and his hot breath on her neck, made her body break out into goose bumps. Before she could stop herself, Emily spoke. Her voice shaky from fear and arousal.

"I...I was just leaving."

"You're not going anywhere. You're gonna stay and drink with us."

After he said that, she heard the men in front of the door, move closer to it. Emily swallowed hard as she slowly turned to face him, stepping back toward the bar to put some distance between them. Emily glanced from him to the crowd now purposely blocking her exit. The fear in her stomach now climbed to her heart and kicked more adrenaline into her veins. Just barely making eye contact with him, she spoke in a low nervous tone.

"I-I have to go."

He licked his lips, a smirk spreading across his features. Then he leaned in her ear and whispered low so only she could hear him.

"What's the matter? Scared? You should be. If only you knew the things I am gonna do to your sweet little body."

Emily said nothing.

"What's your name little girl?"

"Em-Emily." She gasped.

"Emily."

The sound of her name on his lips was enough to make her shiver and she knew he felt it. Why she even answered him, she did not know. But she wished that she had kept her mouth shut. When he finally did pull away from her ear, Emily was barely breathing and he was smirking. She knew there was only one way to get past him and make it out of here. But instead of executing her plan, she stepped backwards toward the bar, trying to shrink away from him. There was no denying it, she was afraid of this man and what made it worse, she had to contend with his friends as well. Finally, she heard a familiar voice behind her, but he was not speaking to her. Instead the bartender spoke to the man who refused to let her leave.

"Mac, leave the girl alone."

The mere proximity of his body to hers, was enough to make her whole anatomy burn for his touch. This man was her poison, her weakness and she feared him because of the things he could do to her without touching her. She feared him also because she wanted him so bad and she knew that like a poison, he would destroy her. At the same time she was afraid of what he could or would do to her, she wanted him to do it. Some part of her wanted him to violate and ruin her. There were very few men in this world who could effect her her this bad and turn her into this lustful animal. This man, was unlike the rest, he was the drug she knew would make her scream with ecstasy and then leave her lying on the floor, broken.

Somehow she knew that Mac, would not listen to mere words. So, if she wanted away from him, she would have to hurt him, bad. Emily carefully turned her back toward the bar and crouched down as if she was retrieving her money from her lowest pocket. What she was really doing was pulling her dagger with her left hand and palming a twenty in her right. Then, as quick as she could, she slapped the money on the bar and turned-with dagger in hand-and attempted to stab Mac. Things did not go as she had hoped. Before the blade even touched him, he had her pinned, back first, against the bar with the dagger to her throat. It was not the blade that kept her stil, but his body pressing her against the counter. As he kept her there, his free hand grazed across the flesh showing just above her jeans. He knew that there was nothing she could do to stop him. Emily felt her body moisten even more (her panties were now soaked) as he pressed his growing erection against her heat, through the thin fabric of her cargos. A shiver slipped past her control and passed down through her legs. To make matters worse, he leaned in her ear and whispered something.

"Got some fight in ya. That's good. It's better when you fight."

Emily swallowed again as she fought back shivers and tried to keep her eyes from rolling back in her head. Even with his toxic breath, his very scent was arousing. It was a mix of cigarettes, sweat, grease, dirt and musk. To her, there was nothing better than the smell of a working man. The concoction of smells penetrating her senses, only heightened her already ridiculous arousal. They were forceful as they invaded her senses, everything about him was forceful and powerful. Emily regretted the admission to herself, that she loved his aggressive nature. It had an unmistakable effect on her, one she wished she could ignore. His smell coupled with the muscles pressing against her and his volatile nature, did not help her to keep her control. She knew he was dangerous and could probably hurt her really bad, but that only made things worse for her. At this point, she could only breath in slow, shuddery breaths. As she was fighting for control, Mac was trying to break her control. Taking her dagger from her throat, he ran the tip of it slowly across her exposed flesh, causing her body to shiver once more.

"You like that?" He whispered in her ear.

Emily let out a small whimper and because his ear was right next to her mouth, he heard her. She mentally cursed herself for not biting her lip. As if things were not bad enough, that free hand of his passed down from her waist, toward the apex of her thighs. Without the dagger, she was more apt to fight back and she did so by trying to push him away from her. But he was quick to respond, he drove the blade into the counter before grabbing her by her hair and pulling hard. She got the message and the pain was enough to stop her from moving. With desperation in her eyes, she begged him not to do what she knew he was about to do. It was too late, she felt his long fingers pressing against the fabric at the apex of her thighs and beginning to slowly rub her through her pants. She knew there was no hiding her arousal from him now. Mac leaned in her ear again.

"Why are you so wet Emily?"

As the words left his lips, her knees weakened and she had to fight to stay up right.

"Mac!"

Finally, someone said something to him.

"Back off da girl."

Without warning he let go of her and she nearly sank to the floor. Emily looked up to see Mac backing away, hands up in a surrender gesture. With his arms up in that angle, she could see the sores that littered the underside of his arms from where he had picked at his skin. As he backed away from her with his arms up in the surrender position, he brought his index and middle finger to his mouth one at a time so he could lick them. It was clearly a screw you gesture to whoever had yelled at him. The damage had already been done and he damn well knew it. There was a mocking smirk still spread across his face.

"Dats enough!"

The bartender's voice was followed by the sound of a shotgun cocking. That sound jolted her from her trance-like state and gave her the strength to stand upright. Emily glanced from the older mexican to Mac and back again. She knew he would probably try to retrieve her dagger from the counter if she did not grab it first. So, she turned around and pulled the knife from the countertop, placing it back in its' sheath. Emily watched the old man gesture with the shotgun, to the group in front of the door, in a move motion. The group slowly slid out of the way of the door. With one last glance between them all, she moved cautiously toward the door, unsure if a shotgun was enough to keep them all under control. As she placed her hand on the door to leave, Mac yelled.

"Hey!"

She should have left, but instead she turned to look at him.

"I'll be seeing you soon."

That was enough, she shoved the door open and ran for the car. The plan was simple. sleep one night in the rental and then leave for good. But things, as we well know, do not always go according to plan.


	3. Anthony

**Disclaimer: I only own Emily**

**Warning: Rated M, for abuse and adult content.**

**Feedback: A little constructive feedback would be nice. For my new readers, I hope you enjoy and for those of you who read the old version, I do hope you like this one better. Please let me know.**

****This takes place before Red Canyon because otherwise things get far too confusing. ****

***Short Chapter. Enjoy!"**

The gates of hell had opened wide and from them had come this methodical, sexual demon in the guise of a human being. In christian mythology, he would be known as an incubus, a demon that rapes women in their sleep and drains their energy. Only this one, did not bother waiting for her to fall asleep. The demons of hell had given him powerful hands and the ability to cause her body great emotional confusion. It was unfathomable, how it was possible for her to be full of arousal and fear at the same time and how her body was able to manage the chemical cocktail now assaulting every cell of her anatomy. In some sick twisted way, the adrenaline flowing through her veins at an ever increasing rate, seemed to cause her body even more arousal. So, within the fear that was slowly eating her alive, she found great excitement. There was something about that excitement that was very grotesque. If this man was worse than Anthony (and she suspected he was), then she had a general idea of just what he very likely would do to her delicate flesh. Even knowing that, she still could not stop herself from becoming aroused at the thought of being his eternal plaything. Something about this great massive dustbowl, was causing her mindset to change entirely. Now, it was not only that man, Mac, that she would have to contend with, but herself. Emily's body was slowly turning against her and almost forcing her to turn back toward the Luna Mesa so that his wanting fingers could probe her delicate flesh. So that the predatory creature with eyes that see through clothing and burn flesh with wanting lust-could tear her clothing to shreds and take her in the dusty bar bathroom. At the same time that she was fighting to keep her body from giving into its' secret desires, she was also attempting to push the ever mocking mantra of his voice, from her mind. There was still a whisper of pain that tingled across the back of her head from where he had pulled her hair forcefully and a phantom feeling of his probing fingers as they groped her swollen bud through her cargos. In her panicked, confused and very daunting journey to her car, Emily had forgotten the first rule of the very situation she found herself in. Even if you do hear the sound of footfalls behind you and your body is telling you that the owner of such footsteps is the volatile man you are attempting to avoid, do not look behind you. The temptation do to the very thing she knew that she should not do, tugged at her as her peripherals caught the blurry image of the grease coated figure, approaching her. At the very same moment she heard the calming sound of her key sliding frantically into the lock of her driver's side door, she slowly turned her head to look at the figure approaching her.

The affect that his mere presence had on her, was beyond her mental comprehension. There was something about him that the mind not only could not accept, but it refused to even accept his existence. His close resemblance to Anthony was enough to make her body want to curl up into a corner and attempt to hide from this truth. Again she had to ask herself, what great and evil devil had pulled him right from the pages of her story and then given him an extra dose of laying a finger on her, Mac could send her into mind numbing, shivers of ecstasy and paralytic fear, all at the same time. Emily watched in stunned horror as the devil made his way toward her and she felt her body began to betray her once more. That brave methodical woman she had once been had slowly been consumed by the fire of hell and now she could only watch her hangman approach. The sight of him had transformed her legs into concrete and froze her body in it's current position. Those powerful arms swayed to and fro as his leg muscles strained under the fabric of his loose fitting jeans every time his lethal boots made contact with the sand. It was like watching a jaguar approaching his pray, every muscle of his body visible beneath the fur covered flesh. Only this predator did not intend to kill his prey, at least not at first. He loved to play with his food and to indulge in the screams of ecstasy he could invoke. Emily knew (or had an idea of) exactly what he would do to her if he got his hands on her and there was no one around. The end result would possibly be, deadly. When he was a few yards from her location, her body either, finally realized the danger it was in or she had managed to gain control because suddenly she could move. Emily did not wish to stay in the gaze of the cobra for any longer, she unlocked the car, slammed the door behind her, started it and fishtailed her way out of the parking lot. It's tires kicked up a plume of dust as it was forced into sudden acceleration from it's prolonged stationary position. The accelerator was pushed nearly to the floor in an attempt to put as much distance between her and the monster called Mac, as quick as possible. Even with the Luna Mesa's image, rapidly shrinking away in the rearview mirror, she still found herself glancing into it, fearful she would see him tailing her. Or that the great gates of hell would be seen glowing just behind her. That feeling that the devil had opened hell for her and was now reaching outward for her, was gone. It was replaced by an even worse feeling, the devil was no longer reaching for her, instead he had touched her and now had a taste for her. There would be only one way for her to maintain her freedom and safety. In the morning, even before the sun rose up over the mountains of this country hell and the demons crawled out from their caves, she would leave. The morning darkness, just before the sun rose up over the canyons would hopefully provide her with cover and keep the devil from noticing her movements.

It was a good twenty minutes before Emily decided that she could slow down, she was not going to be followed and that she was out of reach of the devil's grasping hands. The road ahead of her was an eternity but sand and impenetrable darkness. Although the seclusion of the darkness was a welcome comfort, it was also intimidating and nerve wrecking. The source of her anxiety, was the realization that it could camouflage the moves and motives of Mac. It was dense enough, that he could be anywhere within it, watching her with lustful pools of hypnotizing blue. Those dark piercing blue eyes could be patiently watching her from the side of the road or even perched atop one of the canyons that loomed about her like a great stone fist. There were a hundred ways that someone could watch another person if they were really determined to have them and if they had no conscious or care about the persons freedom or well being. That person, that selfish, methodical and violent individual would not care about causing them pain because they had their own plans set in place for the object of their. Emily could very well be wrong about Mac and he could have gotten the hint after she peeled out of the Luna Mesa, parking lot. But if she knew his mindset and his ethical code of conduct as well as she knew Anthony's, then she knew that he would not stop unless a bullet was put in his skull. The biggest problem with that plan of action was the mere sight of him, crippled her with fear and sent her body into paralysis. There was only one other person who could have such an affect on her and that was person was an entirely fictional character. However, with the occurrence of her recent experiences, Emily was beginning to have a second thoughts. As the lines between fiction and reality were starting to thin very quickly. A whirlwind of chaotic thoughts were flooding her mind in rapid succession. Was Anthony really Mac? Or was Mac really Anthony? Did that really all just happen? If she was going to make it through this, she knew that she had to get control over her own mind and fast.

The road before her stretched into the darkness for miles, most of it disappearing into the eternal night of the Utah desert. In her current state of mind, it reminded her of the various vague descriptions of the pathway into hell, except for the fact there was no red glowing door at the end of her journey. There were also no visible demons hanging around, laughing at her as she ventured further into their twisted carnival of delights. The only one demon that she was aware of had already exacted his damage on her fragile nerves and mind. Even though she was miles from the Luna Mesa, his touch was still lingering on her body and she could still smell his intoxicating scent clinging to her flesh. In an attempt to ignore the ever present arousal beneath her cotton panties, Emily gripped the steering wheel until her knuckles were white with tension. Her hands kneaded the leather until she felt them heat with friction. When she saw her turn up ahead, she accelerated and turned so fast onto the unpaved road that she nearly skidded off of it and into the nearest ditch. She knew that her concrete composure was beginning to crack as the first signs of the fear she had been holding back, began to climb up from her still rapidly beating heart and into her throat. A small lump began to form in her larynx, as she fought back the tears of hopelessness that wanted to come spilling down her sun kissed cheeks. Even if she did make it to the house before they finally won and came pouring from her tear ducts, there would be no relief from the mental torture that she was experiencing. All the bolted doors in the world would not stop the emotional anguish and confusion that she was currently battling. As she fought herself for control, her breathing came in quick, short breaths and she began to talk to herself.

"He could take me...and no one would ever know I was missing."

Her voice crackled with tears as she realized the completely helpless situation she had willingly driven right into. If she ever made it back to her publisher's office alive, that bastard was going to get the desk lamp cracked over his head. The situation that she found herself in, was entirely and unmistakably his fault. That masochistic, foul smelling prick had, had enough gull to decide for her that this vacation was 'good for her.' In exactly what way was any part of this 'vacation' a good idea? So far she had been physically assaulted, she was emotionally exhausted and her mental status was far from well. At this point she could only hope that the rental house would be solid enough to keep out anyone who dared to attempt to come after her. In the same moment that thought crossed her mind, she came upon a small shack of a house that had one outside light on, a snapping german shepherd in a poorly constructed pin and a generator running on one side of the house. Emily slowed down for a moment and-ignoring the unnerving snap of the shepherd's jaws-scanned the property for any signs of the owner. The wood of the shack held the same weather worn, rotted look that the bar had exhibited. There were various shingles missing from the rooftop and the windows were so coated with dirt that she could barely make out the yellow lighting pouring from it's interior. Again she felt the hairs of her neck slowly stand up, her heart began to change it's rhythm as another flood of adrenaline shot through her veins and goose bumps crept slowly across her shoulders in an attempt to warn her of unknown danger. For whatever reason, she ignored it's cries of caution and instead she just sat there for a few minutes looking over the outdated, rotting house that someone called home. Every nerve in her body was telling her to press the gas pedal to the floor and not to stop until she reached her destination. But something else was holding her here, there was something about this place that had caused her physical paralysis. It would occur to her later that it was the same physical paralysis that Mac had the ability to invoke in her.

Only when she heard the rumble of a beat up chevy silverado and she watched it pull up to the front of the house, did she realize exactly what about this place had caused her such anguish. Through the dust coated window, she could just barely make out the familiar silhouette of the very man she was attempting to avoid. In that moment her body memory peaked, reminding her of his ability to turn her legs into jello and to cause her whole body to shiver with arousal. The swollen bud beneath her cotton panties began to throb once again and the ache between her legs that she had been trying to ignore, came back with a vengeance. Emily unconsciously shifted in her seat, trying to ignore the wetness that was gathering between her thighs. When Mac finally climbed from the truck and began to head toward the house, her body began to tingle with excitement and fear. The sight of him as he drunkly stumbled toward the house with a cigarette perched between his chapped lips, was enough to make her bite her lip. Although her body begged for him, her mind knew that he was a dangerous adventure to explore. Emily licked her lips before digging her teeth firmly into the tender flesh of her bottom lip, hoping that the pain would counteract the pleasure and not add to it. Mac had just made contact with the bottom step- his boot steps so hard due to his consumption of alcohol that she could hear it through the open passenger window-when suddenly he paused. In her crippled state, Emily could not find the strength in her leg to move from the break to the gas pedal, so there was nothing she could do to avoid what happened next. He slowly lifted his head and turned to look in her direction.

In the dim glow of his security light, she should not have been able to make out those piercing dark blues, but somehow she could. Emily could even see the little familiar glimmer of knowing that had come across them when he managed to spot her. For a moment they just sat there that way, him staring her down as if she was his evening meal and her staring with fearful eyes at the man who she could not seem to escape. A grin began to spread slowly across his lips before he took another slow drag of his cigarette and licked his lips as the smoke was exhaled from his lungs. Emily swallowed hard as her body began to shake with uncontrollable fear. Every inch of her was trembling with fear and yet she could not make her body move. There was nothing she could do to regain control and make herself leave from this situation. In one simple move, Mac had reached in once more and ripped out her self control. He had taken any courage and crushed it throughly under his steel toed boot. Without saying a word to her, his body had told her that she 'belonged to him and that she always would belong to him'. The moment she had crossed the border into Caineville, he had claimed ownership over her, even before she knew of his existence. Somehow he could dominate her into complete submission and he did not have to lay a hand on her to do so. As quick gasps of terror left Emily's lips, she swallowed hard and continued to stare at him. Those dark blues never left her as he turned slowly toward her and began to make his way toward her car. The sound of his boots as they crushed the sand beneath them, drifted up to her ears, sending chills down her spine. They reminded her of what Anthony would do with those boots and the pain that they were capable of causing, if she failed to obey him. The crunch of the sand mocked her inability to make herself move from her place. Time seemed to slow down as she watched him moving toward her, his body swaying from the amount of alcohol he had consumed. The muscles of his arms flexed under his shirt as they swayed back an forth, every step he took was one of ownership, as if the entire valley belonged to him. There was a certain cockiness in the way he moved that let her know, he was well aware of what his presence was doing to her body and mind. Emily's eyes scanned over his form repeatedly as he closed the gap between her car and him. It was a good thing that she did scan his form because on his journey to her, he reached in his rear pocket and pulled out something that just barely caught the light of his security lighting. She squinted in the dim light as she attempted to figure out what he was now carrying in his right hand. When she finally realized what it was, she looked quickly from it back up to those dark pools and what she saw in them helped her to snap out of her paralysis. Within those glazed over, never ending blues, she found every answer to every question she had previously had about him. There was lust, violence and something else that just send a chill down her spine that spread through the rest of her body, coming to rest in her stomach.

In one brief moment, she began to get flashes of the words she had written about Anthony and she felt a shocked realization over take ever bit of her. Mac was not Anthony, he was worse than him and some great evil had allowed this man to live. Not only was he a real person, but he was capable of doing so many things to her and out in this secluded place, he would get away with it. That thought, coupled with his proximity to her, was enough to make her slam her foot on the accelerator and head for the safety of her rental. A cloud of dust and rocks kicked up behind the car as she fishtailed her way away from that nightmare of a man. The last time that she sped away from this man, she did not see his image in her rearview mirror. But this time, when she glanced up into her mirror to see if he was following her, she found him standing in the road, watching her exit. Emily pressed the accelerator a little closer to the floor in an attempt to get away from him faster, at the same time she fought to keep the car from fishtailing off the narrow stretch of unpaved road. Before she could stop herself, tears came streaming down her cheeks and her breathing turned into short choking, gasps. She struggled to breath through the uncontrollable sobs. In some ways she had resigned herself to her unavoidable fate, but in others she was still telling herself that she was going to be alright. Even if she did not fully believe the lies, they were enough to keep her from driving off the side of the road. They were also enough to remind her that she did have some safety, even in hell.

After a few miles, she finally found the home that her publisher had rented out for her. It was difficult make out in the moonlight and without her halogen lights, she might have missed it entirely. There were still tears streaming down her cheeks as she pulled up in front of the sand colored two story home. Emily parked the car as close to the house as she could without running into the side of it, right now she did not trust anything around her. As much as she wanted to jump out of the car and run inside, she decided against it. For all she knew, Mac knew how to make his way over to this house and for all she knew, he was already waiting inside. It was not that far away from his property and there was plenty of cover for him to hide behind if a car should happen to pass by him on his way here. With a slow, calming sigh, she wiped the tears from her cheeks and palmed her boot dagger. Then she reached in the back seat, grabbed her bag and stepped out of the car. Every move she made was calculated and cautious. Emily surveyed the property for any sighs of unwanted company. In one corner of the property she found a broken down shed, that would be the perfect place for someone to hide. She stared into the darkness of the little shack in an attempt to determine if she did have extra company. But it was so dark outside that she would not be able to see someone unless she had a flashlight and she had not packed one. So, she turned back toward the house and scanned every window and door to see if there was any sign that someone else had been there. When she did not see any signs of a break in, she pulled the house keys from her pocket with her free hand and fished for the keys to the house. As she was sliding the correct key into the lock and turning it, she felt her back goose bump and the paralysis began to work it's way through her body. The feeling of someone watching her began to press at the middle of her spine and cause her hands to tremble. Emily swallowed hard before turning to look in the direction that she felt the gaze coming from, the shed. Those fear filled baby blues scanned the darkness of the shed and they found the target of her anxiety. It slowly shifted from one foot to another like a coiled cobra weaving back and forth, ready to strike. On shaky legs, she began to back toward the house, her hand turning the door handle as she did. From the shadowy interior of the rickety old shed, she heard his mocking voice began to call her name.

"Emmilllyy," He said in a sing song tone.

As she was slamming the door, she heard him erupt into uncontrollable laugher echoing just outside. With tears filling her eyes once again, she bolted the door behind her and backed away, as if he would come through it at any moment. While she stared at the white interior door, her hand gripping the handle of her boot dagger with all her might, a thought occurred to her. How did he beat her to the house? It was at least a two mile drive and that took her a good five minutes. In that moment she realized that he did know the ins and outs of Caineville. He knew how to get around without being seen and quickly. Emily glanced around the entranceway, looking for anything that would give her an advantage in this unfair fight. The only thing close to her were two light switches, one of which she hoped would light enough of the yard around her that she would not need a flash light to see into the shed. In a desperate attempt to gain some upper ground, she flipped on both of the switches. The yard was lit by two old halogen bulbs, which cast a yellowish glow on everything the light touched. When she finally worked up the courage to unbolt and open the door, she found that although she could see in the shed now, no one was occupying it. Feeling a little more bold, she decided to step out into the yard and head toward the direction she heard her stalker speak from. Trying to convince not only herself but Mac that she was not afraid, she began to provoke him.

"Come on you bastard! I'm right here!"

Emily stormed toward the shed with vigor now, her footsteps more defiant and confident. She was determined not to let him shake her foundations anymore. Even if she was attempting to display a confident, fearful persona, she still felt her heart began to increase its' rhythm again as she drew closer to that corner of the yard. The smell of mold and dust drifted up to her nose as she slowly peered inside. There were various power tools that littered the interior and dust covered most every one of them. As she was looking around, trying to find any sign of him, she realized that there was no room for a person to fit in that building. Not unless they wished to balance on top of the rusted out four wheeler that took up most of the space. Emily furrowed her brow in frustration and disbelief before she slowly backed away from the shed. She was careful to look all around while she backed slowly toward the door of the house. Nothing in the yard or around the house suggested that anyone but her had been there. So now she had to wonder if she heard anything at all. Was her paranoia becoming so strong that her mind was now beginning to lose all touch with reality and instead creating horrific delusions in which to torture her? In her exhausted state, it was difficult to deduce what was really happening. Emily knew the longer she delayed sleep and the longer she stayed in this place, the worse things would become. The next best thing for her would be to lock herself safely inside of the house and attempt to sleep through the night. Unfortunately for her, things would get worse before they got better and she would not make it through the night without incident.


	4. Shadow games

Disclaimer: I only own Emily

Warning: Rated M, for abuse and adult content.

Feedback: A little constructive feedback would be nice. For my new readers, I hope you enjoy and for those of you who read the old version, I do hope you like this one better. Please let me know.

**This takes place before Red Canyon because otherwise things get far too confusing. So, Enjoy!

The door behind her was two inches of solid wood, secured with a mastercraft bold lock and thick steel hinges. Although her logical conscious mind knew that it would take some serious force to break that door from its foundations, she could not get the rest of her body to understand these facts. As adrenaline and oxytocin continued to burn through her bloodstream, the poison of fear that now ate away at her mental facilities became terminal. There were slow symptoms of paranoia beginning to rear their ugly head. It was not impossible to tell the difference between illusion of a tired mind and the reality of a nightmare come to life. Her body was reacting in ways that were some what foreign to her. A noticeable coating of sweat covered most of her sand kissed flesh, creating a disgusting muddy mixture. Now she understood the warnings her body had given her earlier. Emily knew with complete certainty that she had been a big part in the creation of the past and current events. There were fingers to be pointed at the guilty parties of this predicament and she realized had to point one at herself. She could have left Caineville after Mac accosted her in the bar. Of course there was the risk of falling asleep at the wheel. But she could have pulled over just outside of the city limits and took a short nap before continuing home. Would he really come that far to ascertain her? That was a risky question that she dare not even consider.

Emily shook her head in an effort to snap her thoughts back to reality. One question was still cycling her inner thoughts, was he really outside watching her? It was a question she really did not want to answer. There were two separate reasons for this, first, if the answer was no, then she had completely lost her sanity. And second, if the answer was yen, then she was in more danger than she originally realized. The predator was pursuing the object of his obsession even more forcefully than she had anticipated and he was more deadly than any other creature in the desert. This man was worse than the Anthony she had created. They were both sexually aggressive demons who had no compassion or comprehension of the word No. But one of them had an element to him that terrified her and paralyzed her logical thought process. One of them was not only real but also could drive her into an uncontrollable lust filled frenzy. It was the one thing she had never even considered would be possible and it was the thing that scared her the most. The way his voice could turn her into a terror-filled and lust-filled, paralytic being, was sickening.

There was nothing about Mac that should even remotely arouse her but he did. Her body had become poisoned by his venomous touch and violent nature. Although she did not want anything to do with him, there was some internal part of her that did. In that moment, Emily made a decision, no matter how her body reacted to him, she would fight him every single time. He was that forbidden fruit that should never be plucked from the branch because one bite would be a death sentence. She had not tasted the toxic fruit of Utah but she had inhaled the volatile aroma that radiated from him and she had felt his flesh press into hers. Their brief interaction had been more than enough, even that was almost too much. Mac was the over dose of every sensation imaginable. He was the only drug in existence that was highly dangerous, addictive and one hit would instantly kill her. At the same time, he was as poetic as he was raw. Any longer in Satan's playground and Emily knew she would disappear with this demon.

As she attempted to calm the torrent of raging emotions, she thought back to his black, rotted teeth and the assaulting smell of his unwashed mouth. Then she recalled the the sight of his scabbed over sores that decorated the underside of his forearms. In the process of attempting to calm her raging hormones, she ended up causing herself more emotional turmoil. The way he acted so casual over a shotgun being pointed at him and how he never flinched when it was cocked. He apparently was unafraid of guns or of having his head blown from his shoulders. Even after the incident, he had followed her out to her car and now he was or was not prowling around outside. It would make sense though for him to be stalking around the house. The housed were too close together for her comfort and he had seen her come this way. Mac already knew where she was headed before she even arrived. As the realization suddenly hit her, a feeling of being trapped began to blanket her entire anatomy. The very structure that was meant to protect her, had suddenly turned into her prison.

Emily fought to hold back the tears of hopelessness that were threatening to spill down her cheeks. Everything that she was afraid would happen, had happened and now there was no way out of here. She knew that she was fat too exhausted to even attempt to drive back home. At the same time, she was too afraid to sleep and she was worried that if she did try to sleep, he might come after her then. It had been a good ten minuted since she had slammed the door shut and she realized that she was still leaning on it for stability. Her breathing had nearly ceased entirely. When she finally inhaled, it was a shaky intake of air that coaxed two tears to spill from her eyes. They ran down her dusty cheeks, leaving streak marks where they traveled and then fell to the wooden floor beneath her. She ignored them. The humidity of the desert had left her terribly sweaty and sticky. But the incident with Mac, which should have never happened, left her sticky in other places that should not have become that way. But again, she was afraid that if she did attempt to shower, he might come after her. Either way she knew that he was going to be coming for her but she in no way was going to make it easy for him. The bastard would have to fight if he wanted to get his rough, uncleaned fingers on her delicate flesh. Without knowing it, she was now gripping the dagger with both hands and praying to whoever might listen.

"Please god. If you're there, if you can hear me, help me. I know I haven't spoken to you before. But please, get me out of this."

Too bad no one had informed Emily that there is no god in this land. Her prayers would never be heard, not this far into hell. This was the place that god did not even dare to tread. Emily swallowed hard again before finally pushing herself up from the door and standing on her own two feet. As much as she feared him coming after her, like a monster from a horror movie, she knew she needed sleep. Even if she only slept for a couple of hours, she had to get some rest. Her mind and body were so exhausted that she could no longer process the last few minutes events. Was he really outside? Or was she paranoid? Those questions could not be dealt with by a tired mind. So with that, she grabbed her bag from the floor beside her and with dagger in hand, headed slowly toward her bed room.

The bad she was holding, now drug across the floor as if it weighed a hundred pounds. Her lack of energy was beginning to effect her judgement in the worst possible way. As she stepped into the darkness of the living room, she forgot to reach for the light switch and nearly tripped over the couch in the process. At least her collision with the furniture was enough to snap her back into reality and remind her of the ever present danger that surrounded her. Emily shook her head before looking around the darkness, in which she was now standing. Cautiously, she crouched down and unzipped the large pocked of her bag. She was fishing for the three cell maglite she had shoved into the bottom of her bag in her paranoia. Perhaps her mental psychosis would come to serve her well for once in her life, instead of crippling her. The cold textured metal brushed the back of her hand and she quickly grabbed it. Even the light felt heavy in her palm as she pressed it's black rubber button and it flared to life. It's bright white beam pierced through the shadows, highlighting the dust covered furniture of the room around her. Emily slowly stood from her place on the floor and scanned the area with the flashlight. There was no sign of any other human presence in this portion of the house, so she headed toward the stairs. With every step, the floor beneath her protested with a groan or a creak. That was a good thing though because it might alert her if someone else did decide to come into the house.

The flashlight beam lead her way to the top of the stairs and into the tiny bedroom. In one corner of the room, there was a wooden chair and against the wall closest to the door, was a small twin bed. Aside from those couple of items, there was little else in her room. That was alright with her, she would not be staying very long. Her bag slid from her shoulder and dropped to the floor with a thud. Then she let herself fall to the dusty mattress. A cloud of dust puffed up around her as she plopped down onto the bed. Emily was too tired to even notice or care. She had just enough energy left to remember to shut off her light, sit it next to the bed and then wedge the blade of the knife between two floor boards for just in case. Emily considered wedging the back of the wood chair under the door handle of her bedroom door but sleep blanketed her when her head hit the pillow. At least with the door open she could hear someone coming into the house and that knowledge might buy her enough time to get out the window. She should have glanced out her bedroom window before passing out. Just off in the distance she could have seen the faint glow of a lit cigarette as it burned in the distance. This information might have served her well.

At first all she noticed was the familiar mixture of smells and then the feeling of eyes raping her body as she lay there half conscious. She slowly began to open her eyes, before she could even try to move, she was yanked from the bed and thrown on the floor. Her body immediately kicked into fight or flight mode as butterflies began to encircle her diaphragm. Emily tried to dive for the knife but he snatched her up by her hair and slammed her face into the floor. The sound of her teeth snapping together, echoed in her head as her vision danced with stars. There was a distinct taste of warm liquid copper in her mouth and she spit in an attempt to rid her taste buds of the unpleasant sensation. She could hear his boots thud against the hollow wooden floor as he encircled her, watching her struggle to regain her bearings. A rough hand entwined in her hair and then she was being drug toward the bedroom door. Emily beat at the hand pulling her and clawed at his flesh in a desperate attempt to get free. Without warning she was flung like a rag doll and send rolling down the stairs. Her head collided several times with the steps before she finally slammed into the wall at the very bottom of them. She pressed her hand up against the wall as she tried to steady herself and pull up from the floor. But there was blood on her hand, so she slipped down the wall and fell back to the floor. There was no way to tell if it was her blood or if she had clawed him bad enough to make him bleed. The details at this moment were unimportant and besides that, a little fuzzy. Emily heard his boots as he descended the stairs and she willed her body to crawl, move or anything except sit there. Mac was too quick for her unsteady frame, he picked her up by her hair once more and shoved her out the front door. The flood lights from his truck lit up most of the yard and nearly blinded her in the process. What ever head trauma she had endured was effecting her vision. A sharp pain was now shooting from her skull, down the back of her neck and it only added to the throbbing in her head.

"Mac...please."

He said nothing. But shoved her forward and bent her over the tailgate of the truck as her feet were kicked awkwardly apart. Then she felt the cold metal of his buck knife, slicing through the fabric of her cargos and cotton panties in one pass. As she heard the sound of his zipper...

Emily shot straight up off the mattress. She was panting heavily, her body was soaked with sweat and her head was throbbing as if she had encountered him. All of it had been a horrific nightmare but it felt entirely too real for her liking. Or it was a warning to get out of Caineville while she still could. It did not take her long to pull herself back down to reality and become fully aware of her surroundings. Still she needed to reassure herself that it was only a dream, she glanced around the room to make sure everything was where she left it when she fell asleep. The knife was still stuck in the floor and the light was wedged in the floor boards, next to it. Aside from her heart racing a mile a minute and the butterflies ever present in her stomach, she was alright.

As she was taking one final calming breath, Emily heard the distinctive sound of the floor creaking downstairs. 'Get out' She thought to herself. It it was him though, she needed to buy herself some time to get out of the house. Those fear clouded blues glanced from the doorway to the chair and then to her knife on the floor. With one final encouraging breath, she slid quietly onto the floor, slithered her way to her weapons and grabbed them as silently as possible. The next couple moves would have to be executed with precision and stealth. Emily glanced once more at the darkness where she now heard the bottom step groan under the weight of her stalker. Then she slid the knife in its' sheath and bolted from her crouched position on the floor. She yanked the chair from its' corner and as she slammed the door-shoving the back of the chair under its' handle-the sound of footsteps quickened. Before she knew it, Mac was ramming his entire body against the door, causing the chair to slide with every hit. If she did not more in time, he would be on her. Emily flung her bag on her back and shoved open the window. There was a little bit of rooftop below this window, just enough for her to drop from. As she was climbing out the window, she heard the chair fly across the room and hit the wall with force.

"Shit."

The sound of it colliding with the wall made her jump and run for the edge of the roof. She jumped down with her light still in hand and sprinted for the car. Her heart was pounding so loud in her ears that she barely heard Mac descending the stairs to come after her. Everything around her seemed to slow as time turned against her. Emily knew things were moving at normal pace but her mind failed to register the fact. A dose of adrenaline hit her again and she could feel bile climbing her esophagus. Her breathing virtually stopped when she caught sight of the buck knife shoved in her rear driver's side tire. There was no time to think of a solution, she glanced back at Mac and then took off running into the desert. It was that one more he would not expect her to make because it was foolish and she knew it. Still, she preferred to risk finding off wild animals, over dealing with him. Although she had no idea where she was headed or even how she would get out of here, she did not care at the moment. Anywhere away from him was the best place to be.

The sound of a truck engine roaring to life, could be heard off in the distance and the glow of mounted flood lights were visible from where she stood. Emily dropped down in the sand, lying flat so she was out of the line of sight. Sand puffed away from her face with every fearful exhale. For a few minutes she just listened for the sound of the truck to pass, its' warring hum drowning out all symphony of the desert around her. It seemed like an eternity before the truck finally roared on down the road, from the sound of his acceleration, she could tell he was pissed. Apparently it did not take much to outsmart him, she just had to ignore her emotions and physical state. She pushed to her feet and tore ass through the wasteland of Utah as fast as she could. There was one possible place she could go to find some help, the Luna Mesa. Maybe that bartender could help save her again or at least call their sheriff. Despite the never ending darkness before her, she still refused to use the light because she did not want to draw attention to herself. So she ran stumbling in the direction of town or whatever was in this direction.

Several times along the way, she would hear coyotes mocking her from a distance. They cackled and yelped in frenzied excitement as she fought back the bile climbing up again. Her exhaustion was slowly creeping into her bloodstream and at some point she tripped over a rock. The ground greeted her with a hard smack and jolted her awake a bolt of pain. She contemplated just lying there in the sand and not getting up ever again. However, her mind had other plans and it promptly reminded her of her nightmare. Emily groaned in frustration, she was beyond tired, covered in dirt and sweat, on top of that it had dropped in temperature. So now she was cold. 'Get your ass up' She yelled at herself to move before Mac returned to look for her. As she pushed up from the desert floor, every muscle shook in protest but she ignored it. There would be no rest for her until things were taken care of by the proper authorities. Or she was miles away from here. Her boots felt as if they weighed a ton and with every exhausted step she kicked up sand.

On the horizon, the faint glow of the Luna Mesa finally came into view. It was enough to give her a burst of energy and she ran toward it like it was her salvation. Out here it was the closest thing to sanctuary she might find. At least it was something.

The cool desert air burned her lungs as she ran across the dark pavement of the main drag in Caineville. Her boots slapped heavily against the ground as she forced her body to keep moving. When she reached the front porch of the bar, her fists pounded on the wooden storm door. Although the lot surrounding the small shack, was empty and there was not a car for miles, she still felt the sudden prickle of gooseflesh on her neck. In one hand she gripped her light and waited for an answer from inside. A single light in the rear of the bar flicked on and she sighed with relief. Ever so slowly the older man made his way toward the front door. Emily stepped back from the door slightly when she realized she had woken him. There was, she noted, a large tattoo of a spider that spanned the length of his chest. The legs ended at the very edge of his arms. His long ponytail was now a mat of tangled hair that hung down his back and the crows feet beneath his dark eyes, were highlighted by dark circles. Before he even opened the door, she started apologizing.

"I'm sorry. I just had no where to go. Mac-"

Without warning he raised his head and cut her off.

"Mh-ac? Wh-at about Mh-ac?" He asked with one brow lifted.

"He snuck into my house-"

The strange mexican opened the door and practically pulled her inside.

"Sh-ay no more. Come inside."

"I tried to drive away but he slashed my tire."

Emily fought back tears that wanted to spill forward in a torrent of emotion. He must have noticed because his face softened and he spoke.

"Ca-hlm down. You're safe here, remember?"

She swallowed hard and nodded.

"Ok den. I will call da sheriff for you. In da meantime," He moved around the bar and grabbed a clean rag, wetting it. "You clean yourself up and relax ok?" He handed her the rag.

"Yeah, ok."

"Dat's better."

The feelings of utter helplessness had begun to slowly fade as she sat at one of the tables, wiping the dirt from her skin. She could hear him in the other room on the phone with the local police.

"Yes, dis is Wh-alter at da Luna Mesa. I need someone out here now. Dere is a gh-irl who says Mh-ac attacked her...uh huh...thank you."

She could hear the phone settle in the cradle and then the sound of mattress springs releasing as weight was lifted from them. Walter's feet shuffled across the wooden floor as he made his way back to her. The once tangled length of hair down his back had been pulled into a ponytail and he had thrown on a hole covered t-shirt. At least she no longer would have to stare at his sagging pecks, beer belly or the spider tattoo. He seemed like a nice enough guy but she was still uncomfortable seeing him that way. Still she faked a smile when he headed back into the main seating area. Walter pulled a chair opposite hers, at the table and then sat down.

"Da police are on their way. Don't you worry, wh-e will get to da bottom of dis."

"Thank you for uh helping em, twice now."

Walter nodded before cocking his head and looking into her eyes.

"Wh-at's you're name sh-weetie?"

"Emily."

"Wh-y wh-ould you come here, of all places?"

"This was-I was supposed to be on vacation. Try to get out of the city."

"Hmmm...nh-ext time I suggest Florida. Ah-ll da sand but much safer."

That last statement bothered her. Even he knew this place was not some where a city girl like her should be. So why did her publisher not understand such things? Had he even bothered to look at the house and the surrounding land? As she analyzed the situation, a sense of betrayl and unease came over her. Then an over-whelming sense of anger, the desk lamp would be meeting Jack's face when she returned. The two strangers sat in uncomfortable silence as they waited for police to arrive. Emily stared at the worn tabletop in an effort to avoid conversation but Walter was somewhat insistent.

"How long wh-ere you in da sun sweetie?"

"I don't know. A while I guess. Why?"

Walter furrowed his brow before leaning back in the chair and looking at her.

"A while is too long."

The chair creaked under his weight as he stood and headed toward the bar. When he returned, he set a cool bottle of water in front.

"Drink dat."

"What do I own you?"

Walter shook his head No.

"On da house."

Emily wrapped one dusty hand around the bottle, twisting the cap off with a small cracking noise before bringing the neck to her lips. It was not until the water touched her tongue, then she realized how dry her mouth had become. The cool liquid washed miles of desert heat from her throat and seemed to rejuvenate her a little. There they sat, her drinking, him watching, and waited for the cops. When at last they arrived, she felt a little hope began to spark. It imbued her with a dangerous, false sense of security. That would not serve her well.


	5. Betrayl

**Disclaimer: I only own Emily**

**Warning: Rated M, for abuse and adult content.**

**Feedback: A little constructive feedback would be nice. For my new readers, I hope you enjoy and for those of you who read the old version, I do hope you like this one better. Please let me know.**

****This takes place before Red Canyon because otherwise things get far too confusing. So, Enjoy!**

****Short Chapter. I apologize.**

The clock on the wall seemed to tick by with the slow rhythmic beat of a heat that was dying. Outside of the little bar she swore she would never revisit, there was nothing but silence. It was almost as if the entire desert had stilled because it knew what fate had in store for her. As the wind whistled past the open doorway of the Luna Mesa, Emily listened closely for the familiar roar of his engine. A feeling of unnerving wrongness crawled across her flesh and left goose bumps as it went. The chemical concoction which had propelled her here was now a faint whisper. The stress of the day coupled with the vigorous activity she was forced to endure, had left her exhausted. As the last of the adrenaline faded from her bloodstream her body alerted her to the bruises that would soon decorate her back from her fall. Every muscle in her body protested even the slightest movement. Still she refused to listen to it, but this time she had good reason. After realizing that she had driven right into Country Hell and accepting the fact that Mac was Anthony personified, she came to a frightening conclusion. The battle with this devil was not over. Even if they put him in handcuffs and placed him in jail, it would not be over. In the short amount of time that she had been sitting in one of the hard backed wooden chairs in the Luna mesa, she had come to accept one thing. It was a thought she never realized she would some day have. To make it out alive, she might have to kill Mac and if her instinct was correct, Walter too. That was all right with her. This was a lawless land where more often than not, people took matters into their own hands.

For all she knew, the land that surrounded the Luna Mesa, was littered with bodies. It was not as if she was the only woman to come here or to pass through here and have a run in with Mac. He could have made thousands of women disappear and then dumped their lifeless forms when he got bored with them. Another chill crept down her spine and tingled up the back of her neck. The cops were on their way and with the conversation she had overheard, this was not Mac's first run in with the law. She knew help would be here soon, so why could she not shake the feeling that something just wasn't right?

It was one of those moments where everything looks bright and cheery but there is an unmistakable dark undertone. Emily had ignored every single instinctual warning up until this point. Now she was paying full attention to every little tingle her body had. The water she had drunk did not carry a funny taste, so she did not believe she had been drugged. There was the distinct possibility that Walter had really called Mac. Maybe the bastard was in on it. That thought caused her to grab the maglite she sat on the floor and give serious consideration to breaking open Walter's skill. She could easily steal his truck. But if he had called the sheriff, then she would go to jail instead of Mac. So she would continue to wait with coerced patience and she would not take her eyes off of Walter. The entire town of Caineville was toxic to her system. Out here, she had no bearings and no one she could trust. At this point, she decided that every inch of Utah should be destroyed. The slow nurotoxin that was fear, had been injected into her system in the beginning and then doubled in potency upon Mac's arrival. If it did not fry her nerves and composure completely, the end result might just be insanity. Then she would end up becoming another dead body in the desert. No one would ever find her body and only one person would realize she was missing. A sudden feeling of complete helplessness drifted over her and she had to fight back the tears threatening to spill down her cheeks.

There was no one she could trust in this portion of hell and she was too far down to be heard by any of the angels. Every smiling face here was another devil in disguise. So when she finally heard the sound of an approaching vehicle, her body jolted in alarm. At first all she heard was the quiet hum and hiss of an engine. Then the sound of gravel rolling beneath rubber tires as the car made its slow precession into the lot. Emily watched the sheriff's vehicles every little movement as if it was a coiled python ready to strike. The legally tinted windows shielded its interior and kept her from being able to see the driver. That only made her more nervous. She wanted to see the face of the man who was masquerading as a good guy. It has been said, in battle, you should know your where in her mental acceptance over the thought of killing someone, Emily had also come to the conclusion that she was at war. There was not just one man she would have to contend with but possibly three.

Slowly the figure emerged from the confines of his cruiser and his full body came into view. Emily scanned over the unformed man that stood just outside. He was nearly as tall as Mac but with a broader build. This did not surprise her in the least. If you are going to play pretend, you might as well make it believable. From her seat inside of the building, she could see no more than the white cowboy hat that now rested atop his head. The sound of boots crunching in the gravel, alerted her to the fact that he wore them to match his hat. Again the storm door creaked as it was pulled open and the man entered. He tossed his hat on an adjacent table before nodding at Walter.

Obviously these two had history. His display of greeting only confirmed her suspicions. Still, she pretended to be the terrified woman, victim of Mac. Now that she could see his baby face and the odd way he held his bottom lip, she felt less threatened. He reminded her of a little boy with a cops badge and a pop gun. The short buzz cut he wore did not cancel the image at all. She would try to pretend to take him serious. Walter was the first one to speak.

"Hel-lo Deputy."

"Evenin Walter."

The deputy calmly produced a notepad and pen from his pocket, before turning to look at Emily. She watched his every move, the gold name badge on his chest caught her eye and she quickly read the name engraved on it, Morgan. His cold blue eyes unsettled her even more. Still nothing could compare to the way Mac's dark pools had raped her flesh, shortly before he had assaulted her.

"Now, I understand that you are having a problem with Mac. Tell me what happened."

"A problem with Mac?! Are you fucking kidding me? That's what you call it?"

"Please try to remain calm and just tell me what happened."

"I will _not_ remain calm! The **problem** with Mac is the bastard broke into my house and he would have attacked me if I had not escaped."

The deputy said nothing. But he scribbled a few noted down while Walter sat silently at the table.

"So, he broke into your house but you managed to escape?"

"Yes. He slashed my tires on my car so I could not drive away. Hell, Walter witnessed his assault on me here at the bar, earlier today."

Morgan turned and looked at Walter.

"He assaulted her?"

"Ma-c was being overly aggressive. He may have touched her."

"Why did neither one of you call me then?"

"Call you? I had to get out of here after he..."

She could not say it. It was too embarrassing and the simple thought of it re-invoked sensations between her legs that she would rather not relive.

"After he what?"

"He groped me all right!?"

Emily felt her face flush red as Morgan continued to jot down notes.

"Did anything else happen?"

"No."

She shot Walter a warning glance, daring him to say she tried to stab Mac. The old man must have read her loud and clear. He only said one thing.

"Deputy, Ma-c wh-ould not back off da girl until I pulled my shot-gun on him."

That surprised her. Did it mean she could trust him? Or was it all a rouse? Morgan continued to write for a few more minutes before finally speaking.

"Did you see him come in the house? Miss?"

"Emily. Just Emily. No I didn't. But I saw him when he exited. I ran into the desert to escape him. I did see his truck before I jumped out the upstairs window."

"Could you identify it for sure?"

"Yes! But I don't need to because I did see Mac!"

He stopped writing and flipped the notebook shut before placing it back in his shirt pocket along with his pen.

"Do you have any bruises from him?"

"No. I refused to let him get his hands on me."

"Unfortunately without any bruises, I can only get him on breaking and entering. Plus destruction of private property."

"You're shitting me right?"

"No, I'm sorry but I'm not."

Emily glanced between Walter and Morgan. She was right not to trust them. The deputy was watching her every move, she could feel his eyes roaming over her flesh. In the next few seconds she knew that she had two choices to make. Either go along with what the pretend cop told her. Or steal an available vehicle and get the hell out of Caineville. 'Tick tok Emily.' For now she decided to play along and pretend to comply. It occurred to her that her demeanor was entirely too calm for the situation at hand. Some where inside she should have been panicked and ready to run. But she wasn't.

"I will go by the house to investigate. Then I will take you with me to get a proper identification. I need to make sure it was Mac you saw."

"Please don't make me see him again."

She pretended to be afraid.

"You will stay in the car while I talk to him."

A thought occurred to her, 'what if Mac says I tried to stab him?' There would be no avoiding him then. If he does tell the deputy about that, then she will end up in handcuffs. God only knows what will happen then. Would he dare turn her over to Mac? Why did that thought even come to her? Emily pulled from her inner thoughts and turned to the deputy. She nodded in silent agreement.

"Sorry about all this trouble Walter."

"Dats all right."

Emily slowly stood and as she did, she felt her body suddenly sway. She grabbed the chair to steady herself. It buckled under her for a moment and she felt her other hand go limp, dropping the flashlight. Everything blurred and split in two. Neither man made any effort to help her. She already knew what had happened, whatever had been put in her water, had no taste. This was a slow drug that took a few moments to work through the system. It was just slow enough for the sheriff to get here before she caught on and tried to escape again. In desperation she reached for her knife but the officer grabbed her, locking her wrists behind her back. As she fell to the floor, she felt his knee press hard into the small of her back and then she just barely heard the click of handcuffs as they were clasped around her wrists.

All sound and sensation was a muffled blur. Her limbs began to slowly lose feeling and go limp. It had all gone wrong in one fell swoop. The sound of a growling engine now pierced through the night air and the tears she had been holding back, came flowing forward. That was one of the few things she still had control over. Her tears flowed down her cheeks and dripped onto the wooden floor just beneath her face. She willed her body to move but it would not respond. Emily knew what was coming next and she braced herself for the encounter. If her body could respond, she would be trembling with fear but instead she was trapped inside of herself with a torrent of emotion swirling around her. What sweet hell had she come to? Mac's boots echoed through the floor boards as he approached her paralyzed form. He stopped just in her line of sight and she stared terrified at the black pain bringers in front of her. Again she willed her body to move and again it disobeyed. The last thing she saw before everything went black, were those boots. How had she let this happen?


End file.
